


Trust

by Twyd



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Angst, Death, Denial of Feelings, Developing Relationship, Guilt, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Internal Conflict, M/M, Murder, Organized Crime, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Abuse, Pre-Slash, Slash, Trauma, Yakuza
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-30
Updated: 2018-03-30
Packaged: 2019-04-14 22:31:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14146008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twyd/pseuds/Twyd
Summary: "Shiki sits at his desk, its surface littered with video cassettes. This should be, this is, servants work, but he wants to do it himself, wants to get it right. It is not every day that something is stolen from him."





	Trust

Shiki sits at his desk, its surface littered with video cassettes. A cigarette sticks out of the corner of his mouth, and a strong cup of coffee sits besides his ashtray. It’s well into the night.  This should be, this  _ is _ , servants work, but he wants to do it himself, wants to get it right, however tedious. It is not every day that something was stolen from him.

The cassettes are over five years old, have never left his security room until now. Even if Shiki identifies the culprit, they could be dead, or immigrated, or anything else. But he’ll deal with that when he comes to it.

Shiki inserts the first tape and hits play. He fast forwards just enough that he can still see – mostly lapses of nothing, occasional meetings, people flung around the screen at triples speed like cartoons. No sound, but Shiki didn't need sound. It takes him 45 minutes to get through one tape. Nothing.

He sighs, ejects the tape and drops it to one side. Pauses for a sip of coffee.

Three tapes down, and still nothing. His eyes hurt.

He pauses and plays at normal speed now and then, whenever he sees his miniature self leave the room, when he scrutinises the actions of whoever is left. All his meetings, the deals that made him, his life reduced to a tiny black and white screen. And still nothing.

Shiki pauses between tapes to rest his eyes, feeling them heat as he allows them to briefly close. One more, he thinks, and then he will call it a night. One day won't make a difference to five years. He finishes his cold coffee and inserts another tape.

He winds through 15 minutes of more nothing before hitting play, seeing himself with Akabayashi and Orihara. He vaguely remembers this. Orihara 16 years old, Akabayashi more of a grudging associate at this stage than a close one. It had taken Shiki a couple of years to warm to the man. No Kine. He hadn’t been able to make it, for some reason Shiki forgets. Shiki scrutinises them all, trying to remember the context of this meet in particular. He doubts Akabayashi or a still wet-behind-the-ears Orihara would be responsible, but he’s not ruling anyone out. 

He watches his miniature self leave the room on the monitor. Lights another cigarette without taking his eyes off the screen.

Orihara is sitting where he had been left. The pixels are not good enough for Shiki to make out the teen's features, but Shiki imagines he is tense without Kine, that his cockiness has not quite developed yet. Akabayashi is pacing around at his leisure, hands in his pockets, speaking to Orihara, probably patronising him. This goes on for several minutes. What happens next makes him sit up. Akabayashi's hand grips the back of Orihara's neck, holding it down. Shiki keeps watching, a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach as he realises what's going to happen.

Pain distracts him. He realises his cigarette has burned down to his fingers. He flicks it away absently, ash everywhere. He forces himself to watch.

It only last a few minutes. 

Akabayashi has one of Shiki’s guards take him home. Shiki remembers this now with sickening clarity, coming back to just Akabayashi in the room, nonchalant, bored.

_ ‘The boy wasn’t feeling well, looked terrible. I had him sent home.’  _

And Shiki hadn’t given it another thought.

Shiki stops the tape, missing files forgotten.

He doesn't need to go through his next cassette to recall his next meeting that had included Orihara, how he had got there before Akabayashi, either by accident or design, had sat there in silence while Shiki had perused his papers, too senior, too important to acknowledge one so junior. He had forgotten the last episode, so hadn't even asked him if he was feeling better. Hadn't even looked at him.

What made it worse was that 16 or 17 year old Orihara had kept coming to meetings with them, had kept quiet. It occurs to Shiki now that what he witnessed may not have been the only time.

 

Shiki does not sleep that night. He paces and smokes through his remaining cigarettes, half a pack, knowing he will accomplish nothing the next day. He waits for 6am, and has his assistant cancel all but urgent appointments over the next few days. He needs to think.

-

Shiki delegates his missing documents to a subordinate. Not ideal nor wise, but, he has other priorities. 

He is having trouble separating the emotional part of his brain from the rational one, the one that was used to making its decisions unhindered. He forces himself to watch the tape again, although every detail seems to be ingrained in his brain forever, in case he has missed anything. It is like punishment for his own blindness.

He invites Akabayashi to an abandoned building, where they often meet to discuss more delicate matters, to not raise suspicions. 

No, Shiki hadn't liked Akabayashi at first, but he had got used to him, come to trust him. Come to consider him a friend, almost. 

Akabayashi is oblivious. Shiki wonders if there had been any guilt. He knows a lot of people of his, of _their_ , stature, took this kind of thing quite lightly, almost took it for granted as their right. Sometimes someone's husband or parents would be paid off, but that was all. Shiki never gave it much thought. He thought he worked with such individuals.

He allows Akabayashi to enter first, and quietly locks the door.

They take their seats, and Akabayashi gives his usual smile, tired and conspiratorial.  _ Look at us, at it again _ .

“What can I do for you, Shiki-san?”

Shiki has to force himself not to take the usual lines of confrontation, however mild, for he knows Akabayashi will recognise it, and Shiki wants to take him off guard. The gun hangs unknown and heavy in his inside pocket.

“I'd like to speak to you about Orihara-san.”

A smirk spreads over Akabayashi's face, making Shiki's blood heat. He wonders if the man recalled the incident with satisfaction at every mention of Orihara’s name, at every meeting where they sat next to each other. 

“What about him?” Akabayashi's prompt pulls him out of his meditations. “Are we finally getting rid?”

“No."

He had wanted to catch Akabayashi off guard, to trap him into a confession, but he realises he doesn't have the patience. He doesn't have enough respect for he man to give him much of his time.

“Have you ever attacked Orihara-san?”

“Whatever are you talking about?” A smile still plays on Akabayashi’s lips, as if it hardly mattered either way.

“You know how I feel about being lied to.”

He thought this would change the play book, that Akabayashi would admit it, if sheepishly, and shrug it off.  _ Younger then, know better now, he was just a brat, he had it coming _ . But Akabayashi keeps smiling.

“I do, but I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about.”

Shiki feels his left hand twitch. He hopes Akabayashi doesn't notice.

“That is unfortunate,” he says. “As I have a video tape, and I very much hoped to not have to watch it again.”

Akabayashi pales then, literally pales. 

“On my property,” he hears himself saying now. 

“Let me explain,” Akabayashi says, a tremor in his voice. “I apologise for lying to you and for my behaviour. I was younger then. Stupid, cocky. I...”

Shiki could have written the script for him. He shakes his head in disgust.

“He was  _ 16 _ .”

“I am not proud of my behaviour,” Akabayashi says humbly, but Shiki sees something exaggerated in his tone, as if it were a formality he had to go through. “But he was nobody important, and he didn't do anything to us in retaliation. I always knew I had to be careful of a revenge shot, especially as he grew more powerful than either of us expected, but... it was good in a way, it kept me on my toes. And it's been five years now, and nothing came of it. I refuse to acknowledge him as much as decently possible. I- “

“Stop talking now.”

Akabayashi bows his head, acknowledging his place, but Shiki still has that feeling that he is just going through the motions, like a teenager caught pickpocketing, knowing its insignificance in the grand scheme of things.

“I hope you can forgive me,” he says. He has the nerve to smile at Shiki, supplicating, conciliatory. “What's a little past transgression amongst friends?”

Akabayashi had made it easy for him. He had practically signed his own death warrant. Shiki will lose no sleep over killing him, however many years of friendship and confidence between them. 

He withdraws the gun and kills Akabayashi with three bullets. Probably hadn't needed three, but Shiki could have easily kept going until the gun was empty.

Akabayashi slumps in his seat, an expression of almost comical surprise still on his features, while his blood drains into the leather seats. Leather was always easier to clean. Shiki calls his assistant while Akabayashi is still twitching, telling him there is a clean up in the usual room.

He picks up the tape with a look of disgust, wishing he could destroy that as well, before pocketing it. Then he leaves, paying Akabayashi's corpse no more attention than if it were furniture.

-

Shiki keeps up an appearance of normality around Orihara. Confronting him will be a hundred times harder than confronting Akabayashi had been. 

They have their first solo meeting since Shiki had watched his tapes, one that had been in the diary for a while, so Shiki had at least been able to prepare for it.

He had tried to analyse Orihara's past motives in this time. Tried to pinpoint when his smiles had started getting colder, his transgressions more daring, when Kine had fallen out with him because he started skipping school. He never seemed afraid of Akabayashi, however. He didn't seem to be afraid of anyone.

Orihara would have still been living with his parents. Shiki had seen him walk his twin sisters to school sometimes. He wondered where Orihara's parents had been that night Akabayashi had sent him home, if they had been in bed or at work or wherever else. If Orihara had showered and gone to bed and stayed there for a few days, claiming sickness, and then started showing up to his life as normal, only quieter, harder, broken off from everyone else.

The now adult Orihara meets him at their agreed point, dead on time. He gets into the car and closes the door, fastens his seatbelt, gives a little bow of his head.

“Shiki-san.” 

Shiki leans forward and gives his driver an address that is not really an address, that is code for just driving around, and closes the flap. 

“Thank you for coming, Orihara-san. How are you?”

“I'm very well, thank you, Shiki-san, how are you?”

“I'm also well, thank you.”

Orihara's eyes gleam. Shiki gazes at him steadily, trying to perceive some hint of resentment, a revenge plot as Akabayashi mentioned, but sees only the usual amusement. He hadn't bothered looking at Orihara when he was young, but he suspects the look in his eyes now were not there. Suspects his life could have turned out a whole different way. 

“Shall I start us off?” Orihara prompts, his mind on the assignment, and Shiki lets him to give himself time to think. Orihara is efficient, hard-working and fast, sharp for his age, good with deadlines, rarely looked tired or stressed. Occasionally roughed up from his tumbles with Heiwajima, but if anything they seemed to brighten the look in his eyes.

Orihara finishes his summary and hands over his report.

“Thank you,” Shiki says, taking but not opening it.

Orihara's smile drops a touch. He is not boastful, but not exactly modest either. He knows how good he is. Shiki wonders again at his motives, why his, Shiki's, praise is important to him. He wonders for a sick moment if Orihara believed Shiki had known. He and Akabayashi were close, after all.

“I haven't seen Akabayashi around for a while,” Orihara says suddenly. He makes no attempt to hide the smirk on his face.

“Do you not care for him?” Shiki says mildly, careful to speak in the present tense.

“I'm impartial,” he says, shrugging.

Shiki does not comment.

“I hope everything's all right,” Orihara says. 

“I'd like to talk to you about Akabayashi,” Shiki says carefully. “Perhaps you already knew he is dead? I know you have ears everywhere.”

The informant rattles off the time and the date, the make of the gun, the number of bullets, like a teacher's pet reciting his sums. “My condolences, Shiki-san.” His smirk drops into a look of mock sincerity. “It couldn't have been easy, shooting your friend.”

“On the contrary, it was extremely easy.”

Orihara smiles like he doesn’t believe this.

Shiki puts the report to one side.

“Why do you think I did it, Orihara?”

“I have no idea, Shiki-san, it’s none of my business. Perhaps he was getting greedy. Perhaps he made a mistake. But I can only speculate.”

Shiki waits for his driver to shift into the fast lane. Izaya cannot jump out without killing himself. Shiki discreetly hits a button under his seat to silently lock the doors.

“I'd like to talk to you about Akabayashi,” he says again. “I know he attacked you when you were young.”

Orihara's eyes narrow. 

“I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about.”

His tone would have got him reprimanded in any other circumstances.

“Izaya.” Shiki hadn't meant to use his first name, but he can't go back now. “I have a video tape. I'd rather not have to play it.”

Orihara, Izaya, turns his face away.

“You have a video tape,” he repeats with disgust.

“I tape all my negotiations in case of an incident, but I rarely watch them back. I only did so in this incidence to locate something that’s been stolen.”

Izaya keeps his face averted. Shiki has no idea if he is angry or ashamed or on the verge of tears.

“I wanted to apologise to you, Orihara-san.”

“Apologise?”

It is anger. He turns back to face Shiki, and his eyes are blazing with it.

“I was unaware. I'm so sorry.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

“You think I knew?”

“I'd like to get out.”

He is looking at the road flying by them, as if to gauge how much damage it could do to him.

“Izaya.” Shiki takes his arm to make him look at him. “I didn’t know.”

“OK.” He looks like he is struggling to keep his tone steady. “Then what do you want from me?”

“I want to apologise,” Shiki says again, holding his arm. He releases it when Izaya doesn't respond, withdraws a briefcase from under his seat. “I know money will not compensate, but...”

Izaya stares at the case, confused.

“You're paying me off?” He gives a shaky little laugh. “I'm not the daughter of some diplomat, Shiki-san.”

“I know that,” he says quietly. “But you deserve what I can give you.”

Izaya smiles again, hard with contempt. He does not open the briefcase. Shiki suspects he will burn it, or give it away.

“Are you only going by the video tape?” he says lightly. “What if you misunderstood? What if it was arranged?”

“I could see by the tape that it was nothing of the sort.”

“What if you were wrong?” Izaya meets his eyes now, still smiling. “What if you killed your friend for nothing?”

Shiki looks at him, trying not to show the pity he felt. He doesn't know whether Izaya is trying to protect his own dignity or fuck with him.

“I spoke to him, Izaya,” Shiki says steadily. “Though I did not give him much of my time. I hope it did not happen more than once, but he is dead anyhow.”

Izaya says nothing.

“There is a good deal of money in there,” Shiki says. “And I am forever indebted to you. But I don't think we should work together any more.”

Izaya looks at him, stricken, as if this is the worst part.

“What do you mean?”

“I don't see what kind of pleasure you could get from working with me, especially as you seem to think I knew about this.” The idea still fills him with disgust. “But if we cannot trust each other, I don't think it is wise for us to work together, do you?”

Izaya has gone very still.

“I've had five years for a revenge shot,” he growls. “I've been close to you, I've learned a lot. Don't you think I would have done something by now if I wanted to?”

“Why else would you keep working with me if it wasn’t for revenge?”

“If an opportunity came up I may have taken it, but I may have taken an opportunity anyway regardless of what happened. I'm impartial, as I said. I haven't been planning anything.”

Shiki doesn’t know what to make of this. Izaya is glaring at him like a spoiled child. This is exactly how he looks: childlike. It pains Shiki.

“Why didn't you tell me?”

This suddenly seems important. He refuses to believe Izaya had really suspected him of knowing. He knows he had been cold with Izaya back then, indifferent, barely dignifying him with a look, but if Izaya had spoken up once in the handful of times they had been alone together, Shiki could have acted there and then. Between he and Kine, they could have helped Izaya, eased him into a healthier future.

“I knew this would happen.”

Shiki frowns at him, trying to understand.

“You think you're helping me, giving me this,” he pushes the suitcase off his lap. “Meaning you'll take all my clients and my network, everything I've built over years, meaning I never have to work again. Don't you understand you're taking everything from me? I don't have anything else.”

Shiki frowns at him.

“But you could do anything- “

“ _ I don't want anything _ . Don't you understand?”

Shiki doesn't. Izaya is young, intelligent, with no ties. He could do anything in the world: work for a top company, start his own business, pursue creative interests, travel, volunteer. The opportunities were endless. He is giving Izaya a new life, many lives, in a well made briefcase.

Izaya seems to read his mind.

“I never finished high school,” he says. “Never bothered, towards the end. I just forged the document for my parents, and my classmates thought I just missed the ceremony because I was sick. I got good grades, after all. Don't feel bad. It wasn't just to do with this. College and climbing the corporate ladder never appealed to me.”

Shiki lets this sink in, twisting the knife.

“We could easily forge your paperwork if you ever decided to do something that required a degree,” Shiki says. “Or if you even wanted to go back and- “

“No.”

He pauses.

“I didn’t plan anything,” Orihara repeats. “Unless he tried again, of course. I was prepared for that. I fought with Shizu-chan enough to make sure I could beat a fight with anyone, or at least outrun them. I wasn't afraid of him. And I wanted him to know that. That's why I kept coming back. Coming back, building my network and working with you was all the revenge I needed.”

Shiki says nothing. He feels something sad and heavy at the life Izaya has made for himself.

“And anyway,” he smiles at Shiki again like a robot. “You’re overreacting a touch, don’t you think? It was a long time ago.”

It pains him how Izaya is young enough to think of five years as a long time.

Izaya shakes his head at the briefcase now.

“If you won't work with me, if you’re taking away all of my network and everything I work so hard on, you might as well have shot me in the head too.”

Shiki's not listening. He is thinking.

Izaya had looked at him with shy respect once.  But then something,  _ this _ , had happened and his eyes had hardened forever. He had gradually become quieter and colder, and Shiki had been oblivious, too up himself to bother about anyone else. 

He knew Akabayashi had not liked Izaya – most people didn't – but had never seen anything untowards in his behaviour. They had been indifferent towards each other in his presence, icily polite when forced to speak. 

He wonders if Kine knew. No. He would have been furious, would have confronted them both and killed Akabayashi himself. Would have perhaps saved Izaya mid fall.

“I'm touched you're so upset,” Orihara says now.

“And I’m saddened that you would think otherwise,” Shiki says. “If not money, is there anything at all you want?”

“You could give me Akabayashi's network,” he suggests after a moment. “And his assignments. Someone's got to do it all.”

“Not all of it. I don't want to overburden you.”

Izaya smiles. Giving him Akabayashi's position would effectively make him his second in command. He'd have the power and the intelligence to have Shiki killed. But then, perhaps Shiki deserves it. How can he make Izaya trust him without trusting him in turn?

“All right,” Shiki says. He takes the case back, running his hands over it. “This was a knee-jerk reaction, perhaps.”

“Was killing him?”

“No,” Shiki says, after some thought, and means it. “I don't regret it.”

Izaya gives him a look.

 

“I want to pretend this conversation never happened,” he says. He steadies his voice. “I do think you're overreacting, although I'm touched you shot your friend on my behalf.”

Shiki nods slowly.

“And I want to get out.”

Shiki leans forward and tells is driver to stop at the next available opportunity. 

He takes Izaya's arm before he can exit, and hands him the tape.

“Burn it, do what you wish with it.”

Izaya narrows his eyes.

“You could have copies.”

“Why the hell would I make copies?”

His voice raises. Izaya stays silent. He realises he is gripping Izaya's arm unnaturally hard and lets go.

“I'm sorry, Izaya.”

Izaya leaves him without looking back.

-

Izaya had never shown much ambition before, and he doesn't now. He takes his work seriously, maintains competitive standards, takes Akabayashi's contacts with a particular relish, but he declines more work he accepts. He doesn't want to be the new Akabayashi, doesn't want to be anything but an independent informant with the occasional extra job thrown in for flavour. This is probably a wise choice for both of them.

Over time, the hardness in Izaya's eyes that Shiki thought of as permanent starts to give way.

No-one comments on Shiki’s decision – they wouldn't dare – but one of his closer associates tactfully hints that working so closely with Orihara Izaya may not be wise. He knows this. He is prepared at all times for what may come.

He is in the car with Izaya one night, around the rougher edges of Ikebukuro, and jumps like a child when a gun goes off, tinny and far from them.

Izaya gives him a half patronising smile.

“Do you still think I'm out to get you? We can stop working together so much if you like. I don't mind. I could go back to being just your informant.”

Shiki looks at him. 

He is smiling, easy either way.

“I think I'll give you the benefit of the doubt.”

He notices Izaya fights with Heiwajima less now, doesn’t seem to have the time for it. Shiki likes to hope their working together more betters him in some way. He had formerly been bored, lonely, tormenting the city for something to do, the way intelligent dogs can wreck an apartment from lack of stimulation.

His eyes still brighten when he gives Shiki some useful information, the way he would when he was younger, glowing with his approval, sometimes shrugging it off but glowing underneath regardless.

“I'm glad we still work together, Shiki-san,” he says then. “Even if you're not.”

Shiki grabs his arm before he can open the door.

“I never wanted to stop working with you, Izaya,” he says. He can't stop calling him Izaya now he's started, hopes it doesn't come across as condescending. “I am very glad we still do.”

He means it. If it had been anyone else, he would have regretfully but forcefully exiled them from his network, with or without the money. It wouldn't have kept him awake at night. He wouldn't have risked everything by continuing to work with them. He may have even had Akabayashi exiled and punished in some sort of way instead of killed. He doesn’t want to think too had on his decisions.

He blushes. Shiki has never seen him blush before. He lets go, and Izaya mumbles something and leaves, and Shiki's driver pulls away.

-

Izaya's increased responsibility obviously has its downsides. It happens to all of them at one point or other. He phones Izaya himself.

“Izaya,” he says, calm and clear. “Do not go home this evening until I say it's safe.”

“..oh?” He sounds only mildly inconvenienced. “How annoying. I suppose I'll just find a coffee shop to hole up in.”

“You may come to my apartment if you like,” Shiki hears himself saying. There is a silence. Even Akabayashi hadn't been to his home.

"...sure."

-

He works in Shiki's living room with the radio on low, typing and sipping the tea Shiki had made him. He seems completely at ease. Shiki keeps looking at him, trying not to feel unnerved. He can't make up his mind as to whether Izaya really doesn't care about revenge. 

He receives a phone call then, disrupting his thoughts. His associates have taken care of the problem. 

“Thanks,” Izaya says absently. “I'll just finish this one thing...don't want to lose my train of thought...”

“Of course. Stay as long as you like.”

He seems to lose track of time, doesn't seem to notice Shiki begin to prepare food, until the rising aroma of ginger seems to reach him.

 

“Oh, you're eating. I'll leave you in peace.”

“Stay. Eat something.”

He doesn't think Izaya will, but they do eat together, and share a bottle afterwards. Izaya is polite but distant, avoiding eye-contact. Shiki idly thinks about asking him to a restaurant for their next appointment, thinks better of it.

 

The song on the radio blends into another.

“I've decided I forgive you,” Izaya announces. He is slightly drunk.

“Thank you.”

“Do you miss him?”

It takes Shiki a moment to realise who he meant.

“Not as much as I thought I would.” He eyes Izaya, wondering how drunk he is.  “Have you ever told Kine?” 

“You know I haven't.”

“Perhaps you should.”

“What for?”

“He's your friend, is he not?”

Izaya shrugs.

“I'm not crying myself to sleep any more, Shiki,” he says. “It was a long time ago.”

It gets late. Izaya stays cuddled in Shiki’s chair, showing no sign of moving. Shiki had hoped drink would help him talk, not to give himself an advantage but to understand him better, but the informant stays quiet. 

“Why don't you let me show you the guest bedroom,” Shiki says, when it's clear they're not getting anywhere.

Izaya allows himself to be guided by the arm to the room in question.

“The guest bathroom is- “

Izaya kisses him hard, too sudden for him to have seen it coming, his hands curling in Shiki's shirt. It  is over before Shiki can respond.

“Goodnight,” he says, and shuts the door in Shiki's face.

He is gone in the morning.

Shiki does not expect to hear from him for a while, but he calls that afternoon.

“I'm very sorry about last night, Shiki-san,” he says, as humble as Shiki had ever heard him. “I had too much to drink. It was inappropriate.

“Don't worry about it,” he says softly. He doesn't mention the inappropriateness of his own erection that he'd had to take care of when he'd retreated to his own lonely bed. “Don’t worry at all.”

-

They don’t have dinner again.  Shiki refuses to believe he's developing an affection for Izaya. It would be obscene.

The word  _ inappropriate _ keeps repeating in Shiki’s head, for that was exactly what it was. Izaya is his junior, in age and position, and after what happened, well, it wouldn't be right. He wants Izaya to meet a nice girl and marry her. Wants him to get back the five years he's squandered.

Shiki tells himself this, but when Izaya shows up at his apartment again one night, claiming men are outside his apartment, he ushers the informant inside at once and makes a call to take care of it.

They call back an hour later, when Izaya is in the shower -  _you don't mind, do you? I've been out all day -_ and Shiki hears the caution in his subordinate's voice.

"Perhaps there's been a mistake, sir. There's no-one here."

Shiki opens his mouth, finds himself smiling.

“Thank you. Give it half an hour or so, just in case. Call me if you spot anything. If not, you’re free to go.”

Izaya comes back, smelling of Shiki’s things, and Shiki tells him, 

“You should be free to go home a little later. Perhaps tomorrow.”

He nods, completely unconcerned, already hunching over Shiki’s spare laptop.

Shiki crosses the room and puts his hands on the informant’s shoulders, thumbs dipping into the hollow of his collarbone. 

“It is very unhealthy to sit the way you're sitting.”

He senses Izaya smiling.

“You're only saying that so I'll come and sit with you.”

“And what if I am?”

Shiki waits. 

Izaya says nothing, but he doesn’t shrug him off.

“I want you to trust me,” he tells the informant, squeezing gently. 

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

“I want you to trust me more.”

“How much more?”

How much more. That was the question. He doesn't even know. 

They end up stumbling to Shiki's room, and he decides,  _ This much more _ .

Izaya is uneasy, uncertain, in bed. Whether this is due to Akabayashi he doesn’t know. When Shiki slips his hands under his shirt, Izaya immediately begins unbuttoning Shiki's instead, and Shiki subsides, allowing Izaya to undress him first. The informant runs his hands over the tattoos and scars, fascinated. Shiki kisses him hungrily when he hesitates, gripping the back of his head so he can't pull away this time. 

Izaya sleeps on his chest when they’re done. A deep, deep sleep, his knives scattered with his clothes on the floor.  _This much more_ , Shiki thinks again. It’s a start.


End file.
